Review by Shawn Perry
Photos by Diane Lynn
“This is the first rock concert I’ve gone to in a long time where the guys on stage are under 60.”
That was one of many mumblings I overheard at the Greta Van Fleet concert. Other seasoned concert speculators shared thoughts like: “Wow…they really DO sound like Led Zeppelin” and “So refreshing to see young bands like these that just ‘get’ it.” The youngsters in the crowd, with little point of historical reference or analysis to go on, were just happy to be there.
And that’s how it is at a Greta Van Fleet concert in 2019: The geezers sit to the side, reminiscing about a time when rock was raw and ripe and sweaty. They’re here to relive those days. Meanwhile, the kiddies endure the pit so they can dance and mouth the lyrics and let the music transport them. Sound familiar? Remember when parents and their kids had their own music? Today, a modern rock show is an all-ages affair — though the perspectives are miles apart.
Two years after slogging their way through the club and festival circuit, here was Greta Van Fleet headlining FivePoint Amphitheatre, a 12,000 seat outdoor venue in the OC. The place was three-quarters full — impressive enough for any band with only an album and a couple of EPs to their name. I would soon find out how the Michigan-based quartet keeps the momentum going for nearly two hours, but first it was time for Shannon and the Clams.
Combining elements of garage, rockabilly, punk, and surf with a slice of polka and doo-wop, Shannon and the Clams are a 10-year-old cult unit with an upbeat disposition and lighthearted passion. Though Nate Mahan struggled to find a working snare drum between songs, the group worked it through with cheerful abandonment and droll humility. “We know you don’t know who we are,” singer and guitarist Cody Blanchard told the audience. By the end of the night, that would change.
For all the goofiness and self-effacing mannerisms of her band mates, Shannon Shaw asserted her leadership at the most crucial moments with sure-fired bass lines and a rough and ready growl on the verses she sang. A woman with a healthy fondness for Elvis Presley, Shaw unexpectedly drove a stake through the heart of Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” to finish up the band’s 40-minute slot, making the south county yuppies in the cheap seats turn away from their $24 Crown Royal cocktails and take notice.
Once the furor died down and stage was set, the lacks of props, gimmicks and razzamatazz of many of today’s pop princes and princesses was conspicuously absent. The simple and powerful Greta Van Fleet logo on the front of Danny Wagner’s bass drum was all anyone needed to feel the intensity of what was about to take place. The soulful hum of David Ruffin’s “My Whole World Ended (The Moment You Left Me)” spun the whole house back to 1969, as the Kiszka brothers — singer Josh, his twin brother guitarist Jake, and younger brother, bassist and keyboardist Sam — rushed out. Wagner assumed the throne, Jake strummed the opening chords for “The Cold Wind,” the first of seven played tonight from 2018’s Anthem Of The Peaceful Army, and the collective lunged forward to breathe in the musty sights and sounds.
When there’s a atmospheric resemblance to Led Zeppelin and Rod Stewart & Faces, you come to expect the tried and true tools of the trade: dancing lights, thick smoke, heavy air, Gibson guitars, open shirts and rock star manes on each and every member. Apparently everyone — young and old — agrees. The brave ones in the pit came to attention and everyone with a seat stood up, vying for a glimpse. The youthful, radiant faces of the most dedicated in the very front, pressed up against the barricade, elicited a genuine excitement for something of epic proportions.
It would be easy enough to assume Greta Van Fleet have single-handedly resurrected early 70s blues and folk-based rock from its primal hibernation into a smoldering, tight-fisted gob of millennial mainstream retro rock. Guess again because it isn’t that simple. When they do something as off-handed and heavily orchestrated as “Age Of Man,” or they borrow a dash of John Denver’s “The Music Is You” to segue into “You’re The One,” the geezers scratch their noggins, realizing the kids know how to go wide and deep, just like Page and Plant used to. And the 20-something wearing a neon Rolling Stones shirt seemed to know all the words.
The elongated solos and caterwauling were admirable attempts to replicate the concert experience of the early 70s, and no one seemed the wiser. Josh Kiszka confidently spoke in measured tones at the breaks, obviously saving that high-pitched wail for the songs. Once the audience was lulled into submission by the intoxicating flavors of “Safari Song,” “Black Smoke Rising” “Flower Power” and “When The Curtain Falls,” the band was in the enviable position of being able to do whatever the hell they wanted.
So they used the encore to build an extended medley out of “Lover, Leaver (Taker, Believer)” and “Highway Tune,” with a return back to a loose and loopy “Lover, Leaver (Taker, Believer)” jam that Jake Kiszka vamped through, swinging to and fro, his barefooted brothers trotting along for the ride, Wagner chugging the rhythm as total exhaustion nearly permeated the mood until a sudden second wind swept everyone up and raving for a sensational finish. All the geezers knew they had witnessed something they thought they’d never see again — high-adrenaline rock and roll fueled by an undying, cross-generational hunger to keep the music as pure and visceral as possible.
If Greta Van Fleet can evolve with the material and continue to craft their live show into a tour de force to the standards of, say…the Rolling Stones — the idea of guitar-based rock fading away could be ruled as premature. Or maybe this quasi-universal love of rock, perpetuated by vain commercialism and nostalgia, just needed a good swift kick in the balls by a homegrown family–based band out of Michigan.
